


Spec

by mlyn



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-04
Updated: 2007-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mlyn/pseuds/mlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio takes a message for Kowalski, and it makes him worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spec

"Two-seven, Vecchio." Vecchio checked his watch. Five-thirty p.m. on the money.

"Is this Detective Kowalski's desk?"

Vecchio nudged a month-old coffee cup away from his hand. "Yep. I'm just keeping his seat warm."

"Oh, hah hah!"

Vecchio stiffened. That laugh was forced.

"Aren't you sweet? This is Dr. Caldwell's office, calling to update him after his visit today. When he comes back to his seat, hah hah, will you give him the message that we called?"

"Yep. Buh-bye." Pressing his lips together, he tossed the handset back toward the base and pushed out of the chair. Maybe Kowalski would be home and could explain that call. Welsh nodded goodbye as Vecchio headed toward the door, folding his coat over his arm.

He was still thinking about the call when he reached the Riv in the parking garage. He'd been expecting to drive home with Kowalski, but instead Kowalski had disappeared after lunch, and Vecchio had gotten caught up in some paperwork. So Kowalski had gone to a doctor, without telling him. Vecchio shook his head with frustration and stabbed at the radio, turning off the drive-time disk jockeys.

He pulled onto the Dan Ryan and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Kowalski picked up at the house after two rings.

"What are you doing?" Vecchio squinted at brake lights in front of him.

"Drinking a beer. Where are you?"

"Traffic. Some doctor called your desk."

"Oh yeah? Already?" Vecchio could hear the slosh of liquid in the bottle.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?"

"It can wait 'til you get home." Click.

Vecchio tossed the phone across the seat and rubbed his hand over his head. Goddammit, Kowalski could be such a prick, thinking he was so cute with the cryptic shit.

Seven minutes later, Vecchio picked up his phone again. Kowalski had been having a lot of headaches lately. Debilitating headaches. Maybe the doctors had found a blood clot. Or a brain tumor.

He flipped the phone open, then closed it again after a moment. Kowalski would make fun of him first, then refuse to tell him anything until he got home.

Twenty-four minutes from work. Kowalski had been cranky, too. A real asshole lately, more so than usual. Maybe it was the headaches. Or…maybe he was bipolar. Or had multiple personality disorder. Maybe it was from all his years doing undercover. He'd finally cracked. He was going to be committed. He was just home to pick up some stuff and say goodbye to Turtle.

Vecchio honked furiously at the slow asswipe in front of him.

Fifty-three minutes after Kowalski had hung up on him, Vecchio fit his key into the deadbolt and let himself into the apartment. As he peeled off his coat and dropped it where he stood, he noticed an empty beer bottle on the kitchen counter. Kowalski was nowhere in sight.

Vecchio moved quickly through the apartment, smoothly checking each room. It didn't take him long to find Kowalski in the spare bedroom, the "office." He was sitting at the computer, back to the door.

"Don't you get enough of that at work?" He leaned against the doorframe and tried to look casual, fear a knot in his chest.

Kowalski straightened and turned his head just enough for Vecchio to see part of an ear, then faced the monitor again. "I'm cleaning out email. Figured it's about time I did this."

First doctors, then wrapping up long-postponed chores. Kowalski had terminal brain cancer that had cracked his psyche, Vecchio just knew it.

"Ray," Vecchio said, knowing it would get his full attention.

"Yeah?" Kowalski looked over his shoulder this time.

Vecchio opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Thin. Black rimmed. Rectangular. Sleek, stylish, utterly sexy _new glasses._

Kowalski grinned at Vecchio's expression. "Like 'em, huh?"

"The doctor…"

"Yeah, my new optho-whatever."

"So that call…"

"Was about my contacts."

Vecchio's head spun. Contacts. Contacts meant no more glasses. Right after he'd gotten the new glasses. Was Kowalski _trying_ to drive him insane?

"I was getting tired of the headaches and never being able to see shit. And not being able to get stuff like this done—" Kowalski waved a hand at the computer, then pushed his chair back and stood. "So I went in to get fixed. Up. Fixed up."

"You're not dying?"

Kowalski frowned. The little furrows above the new rims looked amazingly sexy. "Why, you want me to?"

"Kowalski." Vecchio managed to unglue himself from the doorframe and grabbed Kowalski's shirt, hauling him closer as gracefully as he could manage. "I better see you in the bedroom wearing those, and _only_ those, or _I_ am going to die."

A grin spread across Kowalski's face, and the thin clear lenses highlighted the little crinkles around his eyes. Vecchio swallowed.

"Well, all right, Vecchio." Kowalski detached himself and slid out the door, heading into the bedroom.

Thirty-two minutes later. Still fully clothed, Vecchio was kneeling between Kowalski's legs, hand coated in massage oil, jacking him slow enough for Kowalski to make those amazing writhing motions with his hips. His eyes slid closed again, and Vecchio squeezed the base of his cock while rubbing a thumb around his balls.

"C'mon. Look at me."

Kowalski blinked at him. The glasses were a little askew, but they still gave Vecchio the same thrill of strange newness.

 "I didn't recognize you," he said. Kowalski blinked again. Vecchio babbled on, ache spreading through his belly. "Spread out like some kid working for his rent. Tell me how bad you want this. Look at you, writhing like a cat in heat."

"Vecchio. Fuck's sake." Kowalski's hips jolted up, his head driving back into the pillow, exposing his throat. That, right there, that was classic Kowalski. The glasses had not actually changed him.

Vecchio crawled up and kissed him deeply, thrusting his tongue into his mouth. His hand picked up movement again, moving faster now, breathing quickening to keep pace. He felt like he could sense Kowalski's orgasm, feel it building somewhere deep inside and working out. Kowalski moaned and lifted his head, trying to get inside Vecchio through his mouth. His hips pumped to Vecchio's rhythm, fucking his hand, cock sliding between Vecchio's fingers.

 _Jesus._ Vecchio was so hard his chest hurt. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to have contact, had to drive himself against something. And he didn't even have time to prepare Kowalski.

He stretched out on top of him, releasing Kowalski's cock to balance himself on his forearms. Kowalski moaned at the loss of contact, but caught on quickly and started working on Vecchio's belt.

"Hurry, hurry," Vecchio gasped. He tried working his own button and zip, but his hands were slick with oil, and Kowalski was faster anyway. He reached into Vecchio's fly and pulled his cock out. He was so hard it hurt, but his hiss at Kowalski's touch came out more like approval. Kowalski chuckled, bit his ear and started stroking him.

"Fuck, Ray." Vecchio reached down and took Kowalski back in hand, matching him stroke for stroke, driving himself against Kowalski's skinny hip while Kowalski pressed up. "Think your fucking yuppie glasses changed you, but you're still hot for this."

"Bite me." Kowalski grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss so hard that their teeth clicked. Vecchio felt Kowalski's tongue slide into his mouth, and came.

"Oh fuck," Kowalski groaned, and Vecchio felt Kowalski's cock jerk in his hand. He sighed and collapsed, his mouth sliding, wet across Kowalski's cheek.

A while later.

"I like 'em, you know."

"I know."

"And I don't think you're a slut."

Kowalski stretched. "Yeah, you do."

Rousing himself, Vecchio rolled over onto his back. Here was another shirt and set of pants to send to the gay drycleaners, the ones who didn't ask questions and didn't smirk about what stains they found. But forty bucks in drycleaning fees was most definitely worth this feeling. He wiped his hand on his undershirt and looked back at Kowalski.

"Maybe a little bit of a slut."

Kowalski sat up, his back curling, vertebrae standing out in bony relief. He hauled himself to his feet and headed to the shower, carefully removing his glasses as he went, and threw a smirk over his shoulder. "And you love it."

Vecchio looked at the ceiling. He really did.


End file.
